Jason Rodriguez - The Moose in the Closet: G gets the Hulk

I knew G since Pre-K, we went to this Brooklyn College Tutorial program together. It was some selective shit, interviews and tests to get into it. Kids from all over the neighborhood tried to get in and in high-school and college I discovered that kids from all over NYC tried to get in. I don’t know what the big deal was; I hardly remember shit about it. I just know it was super liberal. My teacher was “Kathy”, not Ms. Something. We did a lot of reading, art and some basic math. I think it was just the “in” thing. Plus it was free, I believe. But I’ll talk about Pre-K some other day maybe, I got a G story for now.

This was probably Freshman year in High School, G was over my house and we were playing some video games. Now, my mom makes the best mozzarella sticks possible. I don’t know how she does it but she weaves cheese, breadcrumbs and spices into pure mouth-magic. She used to make 50 of them at a time and freeze them so we can have them as snacks throughout the day.

G and I decided to have some mozzarella sticks so I bust out the deep-fryer and kick it up all the way. While I’m on the subject, I should mention that my family fries everything. When Robin and I first started dating she was amazed that every recipe in my little cookbook was a fried recipe. Green beans – fry it. Chicken – fry it. Meatloaf – Bake it then fry it for the crispy goodness. I have since learned to cook many non-fried recipes but you better believe that on the nights Robin has class I’m frying a steak.

Anyway, I take out a mozzarella stick and drop it into the boiling hot oil. Of course, I’m an idiot, and drop it from about three feet above the fryer. Oil splashes out, hits my hand and I scream like a bitch. Not even like a bitch, this is the kind of scream that, when heard, a bitch says, “Damn you screamed like a bitch.” This is the kind of scream that makes a dog’s ears bleed. I’m a big dude, deep voice…it must have looked like the scream was dubbed.

So, G, being my friend for so long, responds appropriately and starts laughing so hard that he doubles over, tears in his eyes. I am crying as well, for entirely different reasons.

I have the tendency to Hulk out sometimes. I’m generally pretty passive but I occasionally explode with rage. G knows this, and I think he realized it was serious when I screamed, “You think this is funny, asshole?”

I chased him. Around our small ass apartment, hand balled into a fist. I think we circled the dining room table two or three times. I’m fucking flipping, G is just laughing. There’s a hardball on the windowsill and I pick it up and cock my arm back, prepared to throw it. G, still laughing crouches onto the floor, arms protecting his head, still laughing, realizing I will absolutely throw it at him but the situation is still hysterical.

I pull up along side him. His leg is up in the air, towards me, warding me off. His head is well covered; Ozzie Smith couldn’t get a hardball through to his dome. So I throw it to the place that can cause the most damage with the opportunity presented to me.

Point blank shot right to G’s nuts as hard as I can throw.

The laughter stops for a moment; G lies limp. Then, slowly, the chuckling begins. We’re both laughing. G is in serious pain but he can’t help it; it was just too perfect of a moment. That’s sort of what happens between old friends, shit like this, if done at the right time, is more funny than painful. It’s an instant story. My hulk rage is finished; the mozzarella sticks burnt. I get a new batch going and go back to the video games. G stays huddled on the floor, continuing his hybrid cry/laugh. He finally comes over to join me, play some Madden football, eat some mozzarella sticks and chill out, as if nothing ever happened.

read a book, fanboy: Grant

turn off the metallica, fanboy: Deltron 3030

Labels: mitc

G gets the Hulk

Friday, February 11, 2005

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